


still wanna waste all of my time

by doubtthestars



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three ways august doesn't end. Three ways Basti's farewell game could have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	still wanna waste all of my time

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fake It by Bastille. Check it out.
> 
> Just a short piece of what ifs as an appreciation for basti and my readership that I have woefully left hanging with nothing to read.
> 
> I did this all on mobile because my computer is out of commission for now. So forgive the awkward formatting, short lines, etc.

Three ways august doesn't end:

1.

Poldi doesn't make it (even as he made promises over late night phone calls) and Basti doesn't cry on air. Somehow those two are connected.

He does call him, the moment he's in the locker room with people still hugging him and churning out the same words--footballers weren't imaginative with any other part of their bodies beyond their feet, except for Fips. He was too clever for his own good.

Basti hesitates answering the buzzing, shrill thing in his pocket but can't resist the siren call of hearing Lukas. He should be mad but his eyes have finally released twelve years of pent up wishes and heartbreak with the realization that this is truly the end. Bastian needs an old comfort, as far away as he is. They were the two old men that got to the finish line together.

"Sorry," is the first thing he hears through the line.

He turns his back to the others, draws his shoulders up, half covering his ears to block out the ambient noise and the crowd still outside and half to make a space for himself and his thoughts.

"Don't be, it's not your fault." He stops there because he doesn't want to dredge up old ghosts of what could've been and what should have been. If Lukas was happy, he would take whatever league and country separated them gladly. 

"You looked good out there, old man. Those kids on the squad really highlight your grey hairs." 

He sniffs offended at the jibe, but ends up smiling broadly at the memory of a few seconds past. The kids he barely knew, the teammates that would be the future tried their best to help him get a goal. He appreciated it but he knew his last goal would have to be witnessed by Lukas, whether on the sideline or right beside him. 

Basti didn't mind not scoring this time. 

"They're good kids." He looks around the room, watching Max animatedly talk with Süle and Shkodran. It melded with the countless time he had been here, past and present. If he looked out of the corner of his eye, he could almost see Micha and Torsten and Arne mingling with the rest. Basti still caught himself expecting Fips to pick his brain on the good and bad of the match.

"Germany's finest, I don't doubt that. Keep an eye out for our replacements. Someone dashingly handsome and a hothead with terrible hair." 

Bastian hums from the back of his throat, suddenly tight and scratchy. Another wave of disbelief mingled with pride at his team making his eyes water. 

"You'll have to be the final judge on that but they don't need another Schweini-and-Poldi." 

Lukas laughs, loud, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he was right next to him. Basti blinks a few times, the sleeve of his jacket getting increasingly wet with each pass.

"I think you're remembering that wrong, Poldi-and-Schweini was definitely the order. They don't hmm? Well, it was good while it lasted, wasn't it." 

"Yeah," his voice falters, "yeah, it was." 

2.

Basti scores his last goal in Munich. The federation is well aware of his intentions to retire and everyone comes out of the woodwork to see his last match. 

It is only a friendly, but the crowd gives it their best to destroy that notion. 

Half the Bayern legends come to share the wealth of wisdom and celebration with one of their own. A good majority of them remembered a young punk of a kid named Schweinsteiger just waiting to make his mark on the world. 

Lukas still ends up with an injury but manages to sneak his way close to where the staff is sitting and stays there as Basti manages to curl a ball past the goalkeeper. 

The noise of a sold out stadium is not unfamiliar, nor out of place, but it still makes Bastian's heart race. There is a split second of disbelief as he gets a hug from Thomas. His eyes are stuck on the screen replaying the goal. 

He runs to the bench and finds Lukas and the kids and Jogi waiting. He can hear Manu's whooping from across the field somehow. 

Munich's pride is stuck in his throat for the next twenty odd minutes. He was supposed to be subbed off before Mesut took the corner and Thomas made a wild, calculated, impossible pass to him. His legs are on fire but that is nothing new. 

He thinks Bayern will forgive him if he manages to hurt himself for the sake of keeping this moment alive. 

Joshua is the first to get to him after the ref whistles, but Thomas and Manu aren't far behind and they're the ones that lift him up to the chants of his name. It is a splendor of red and white and cameras flashing and recording. 

Lukas is on the pitch when Bastian gets thrown in the air, just watching him laugh and protest any more revelry.

He takes Basti's hand and walks over to the yearning faces and extended hands waiting for some small recognition. 

Someone throws a bayern jersey, the number 31 bright against the background. Lukas puts it on backwards, laughing the entire way as Basti looks on. They get hugs and acceptance. The love of the crowd for Munich's son strong with the pulse of thousands. Bastian is happy, the smile on his face a testament. 

"Still think I should've broken something to make it a Poldi-and-Schweini farewell?" He nudges Poldi with his elbow as they walk towards the tunnel. Lukas shakes his head.

"No, no way. This was perfect. Better than expected," he meets his gaze, face serious, eyes shining with pride and a little bit of tears before breaking into a broad grin, "and that goal wouldn't have happened if you had broken your foot with a golf club." 

Bastian shoves him playfully to the side and Lukas returns it, just like old times.

3.

They end the way they began. Lukas and Basti walk out of the tunnel, sober with thoughts of getting older, the last of their generation on the field for the last time. The squad picture takes a bit of rearranging to get them side by side, arms around each other. Seven and Ten smiling at the camera before the speeches and accolades. 

The game isn't very eventful. Some missed chances and a shot that goes wide from the inside of Poldi's boot. The crowd still cheers whenever the ball rolls to either of them. It is a lighter form of play. The burden of being giants, defending champions, is loosened from their shoulders. They have fun with it to the resignation of their opponent who would always be second string to the main event of their farewell.

In the end, they win.

Lukas dares Basti to kiss his cheek on the bed of hands lifting them up together to the delight of everyone watching. One last joke to close the chapter of twelve unforgettable years.

(The real punchline comes a year later, before the first friendly of the season. Basti in the middle of Ana and Lukas's puckered lips. Savvy fans note the dirty kits and deduce it must have been after their last game.

The tagline reads: #tbt #30love)

**Author's Note:**

> Holger is the first to like it on instagram. And draxler and thomas were the ones to score in the third scenario.
> 
> Butterfly effect says there's weird variation to every action okay so let me have this.
> 
> No one can figure out what he means by the tennis reference. And i am definitely alluding to the rihanna pic with that last image.


End file.
